


The Uninterested Alpha

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Raphael, Alpha/Omega, Disabled Character, First Meetings, M/M, Misunderstandings, Omega Dean, Omega Sam, Scenting, Scents & Smells, disabled Raphael, mentions of Castiel dying of cancer in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: One whiff of this guy and Sam's ready to buy into the whole 'Love at first whiff' crap.Raphael is struggling with the whole sex and romance thing. Life isn't fair. Especially not with such a gorgeous young man standing in the bar not far from him.





	The Uninterested Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand we're back. :)
> 
> From the next part and forward we'll start seeing the boys step by step figuring it out. Like Raphael told Dean - if it's meant to be, they'll find each other. Hint; It's meant to be.
> 
> Also, this time we get to see how much Raphael is affected by his handicap, which was very interesting to write about.
> 
> Oh, and somebody asked me to put this series into chapters instead. I'm not going to do that but I'll explain to you why. If I put it into chapters it'll automatically put a different pressure of being a cohesive story in a way I never planned for this to be. This is supposed to be a verse where I could write a bunch of hedonistic boys having a roll in the hay with whoever, however, for my sheer amusement. Of course, I can't write smut without plot, and in some cases the plot is more interesting to me. _But_. Despite this turning into something somewhat more cohesive than planned, this verse will have so many temporary pairings that I want to be able to tag accordingly. Some might have triggers and some might be lighthearted and some gratuitous porn and I want it to be clear before you even open the story. If you want to be sure not to miss an update you can click the series link and subscribe to the series or bookmark it like you would any story with chapters.
> 
> Beta read by my awesome Beta [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). (And Grammarly.) Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> And since girls are hot when they flare too, here:
> 
>  

* * *

Omegas aren't supposed to chase after Alphas. That's just not how it works however much Alphas would like it if it did. And yet, here he is, following the faint scent of someone's recent footsteps, straining his nose as much as he ever had tracking a deer while hunting with Dean and dad as a Juvie. This Alpha smells so good Sam thinks he might be falling in love. He wonders if this is how Dean felt when he got his first whiff of Cas. Granted, Cas and he were both Juveniles when they met so they wouldn't have felt quite like this. Sam had been walking along minding his own business (quietly minding everyone else's business) when he caught the faint Alpha scent and _Bam!_ Sam's smitten. 

He hasn't told Dean, but he could have ended up mated with a Conservative back home. Brady and he had known each other since they were Juvies. Before Sam left home Brady was the only Alpha Sam had slept with. He loves Brady. He _does_. Just… not enough to stay. Sam could have been happy mating monogamously even with a Conservative. Brady wasn't oppressive or anything. The religious rules he lived by aren't _that_ hard to follow. And in private he was downright feral. But Sam had still felt like something was missing. There's was a quiet living with him that Sam wasn't used to and hardly could stand. Compared with pack life the silence was thunderous. It had nothing to do with only being two. Living with Dean had proved that. At home Dean is rarely quiet. His low-frequency rumble of ‘all is well’ plays a near-constant backdrop. Sam simply can't stand the absence of the wordless communication within a pack. 

Now _this_ guy that Sam's tracking on the other hand… Sam might consider giving up on pack life for him on scent alone. And he hasn't even gotten a good whiff yet. But the trail is getting stronger. He's in the business district now. He follows the trail to a pub. The bouncer stops him. “I'm in preheat and I just smelled my truemate go in here. You can scent me if you want,” Sam explains, trying to win sympathy since so many believe in truemates. 

The bouncer leans in to sniff him briefly then grunts. “There's no such thing as a truemate, son. But the clientele appreciates Omegas in preheat so you can go in,” he acquiesces. 

“Thanks.”

“Next time, don't wear clothes with holes in them. Dress to match your prosperous scent and we won't have a problem,” the bouncer tells him before stepping out of the way.

“I won't. Thanks.”

Sam makes his way into the bar and instantly pinpoints the source of the scent. It's an ebony man in an expensive suit standing by the bar. His posture is regal and his expression forbidding. He doesn't seem like the type to do much smiling. He makes polite conversation with the bartender, reads a magazine, and sips a whiskey. The bar is fairly crowded and it gives Sam a good reason to pass the man by close enough to get a good whiff. He smells _amazing_. Gods! Sam wants that scent all over himself. He can skip the knot as long as the guy just marks him up!

Sam’s always thought the whole love at first whiff thing is overrated. People go years pining for someone they’ve never met in person, claiming to be in love based on a scent. Sam thinks love is and should be based on personality. That’s Progressive thinking, but Sam doesn’t care. Sam's love for Brady had been mostly personality based. They'd been friends first and foremost. Their scents are compatible. Compatible, but not perfectly matched. Sam’s whole idea of how falling in love should work is crumbling as we speak. Sam’s ready to plan his life around this guy and they haven’t even said ‘hi’.

Sam leans against the bar a couple of feet away, facing the bartender. He’s barely taken up a place there before the bartender puts a drink before him and winks. “On the house,” he says and goes to serve another customer before Sam has the chance to say thanks.

The handsome, black Alpha pays him no heed. None whatsoever.

Sam doesn’t get it. He’s in preheat which normally draws the attention even of mated Alphas, even if they don’t act on it or aren’t really interested. In fact, a look around confirms that most Alphas in the room have raised their heads to look at him or to scent the air discreetly. _What would Dean do?_

_Dean would start up a conversation and list his minimum requirements for allowing himself to be courted._ Sam thinks of how he’s seen Dean act. There was an Alpha Dean liked the smell of that they passed on the street last time they were in preheat and Dean’s hand had shot out to stop him. ‘Woah, you smell fucking fine. Hey, so. I’m in preheat and I’d sure like a nice knot to squeeze around. I’m thinking yours might do the trick. But I’ve got other needs too, you know? No food, no flare, no fucking, you get me?’ Subtle as a wrecking ball. Dean’s always been straightforward but since he came to the city he’s turned downright crude. Granted, it landed him with a belly full, and knotted by Alphas of this guy’s calibre more often than not. But Sam cringes inwardly at the thought of being so businesslike about it. He likes subtle flirting. And he doesn’t share the same disgusted aversion for Progressives that Dean does. He can’t really bring himself to say it like that. ‘I want your knot in me’ isn’t really a conversation starter to Sam.

“Hi,” he says instead, looking at the Alpha.

The wondrous smelling Alpha looks up. For a brief moment, Sam thinks he sees a spark of interest as the Alpha gives him a quick once-over. Then the Alpha gives him a polite, close-lipped smile, a nod, and goes back to reading.

_The hell…?_

Sam blinks in confusion. He takes a sip of his drink. Cognac. Good stuff. Burns in his nasal cavity, bringing with it layers upon layers of scents translated into taste, and warms his belly.

The bartender comes back with a smile. He’s in his late forties or early fifties, has short gray hair, a chin-dimple, and smells fairly good. Definitely healthy and prosperous. Sam couldn’t care less. “Haven’t seen you in here before,” the bartender says while putting a bowl of peanuts in front of Sam.

There’s something intense about his eyes that normally would draw Sam’s interest, but now Sam only has one interest and it’s currently ignoring Sam _for a magazine_. “Yeah. I caught a scent a couple of blocks away and tracked it here,” he answers with a brief, pointed glance at the ebony Alpha to signal that he’s only there for one reason, however embarrassing it is to admit he’s been chasing an Alpha.

The bartender’s smile remains unwavering and he gives no sign of taking offense. “Well, if that doesn’t work out for you, you’ll know where to find me. In the meantime, tell me if you need anything. Food, drink, just tell me. On the house.” 

“Thanks.”

Sam wonders if the ebony Alpha is one of those who only like girls? Could be. Sam’s _got_ to smell as good to him as he to Sam. Otherwise, life isn’t fucking fair. Is it even possible for someone to smell perfect to one person and not to the counterpart? Sam doesn’t know. He turns his head towards the ebony Alpha again. Gods, he’s regal. Posture and aura like a king amongst peasants, fit and healthy. Confidence in every cell. Sam could use some of that confidence right now. He’s feeling mortifyingly nervous and vulnerable, hating how his own scent gives away that he’s swooning like this was his first Alpha encounter since presenting. If he keeps staring and scenting the air discreetly like this for much longer he’s going to start to get slick and the mortification will be tenfold. “What are you reading?” he asks then sips his drink to hide his nerves.

The ebony Alpha looks up, sees he’s being the one spoken to, and answers. “An article about how forcing Omegas to use suppressants at a workplace makes a company run more effectively. It’s a load of bull, but it’s interesting either way.”

“Why is it bullshit?” Sam probes to keep conversation going.

“If all the Omegas in a company are on suppressants, the general output is more stable. But if they’re not, Alphas show vast differences in output during the Omegas’ heats. Most Alphas turn competitive and unconsciously go the extra mile to impress the Omega in heat. Others get distracted and are less efficient. A company will see a peak of productivity when their Omegas are in heat, making their yearly output graph go like this.” He demonstrates a jagged line with his finger. “A company with Omegas on suppressants will see a mostly flat line in the output graph. This article argues that to be a good thing, pointing to how you also can see a dip in productivity in Alphas during their coworkers’ heats. The article argues that the Omegas are the problem to be fixed.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“No. If you have to lower the bar to stay in the competition you’re not fit to work for me. Complain three times to us about an Omega distracting you from working, you’ll find yourself without a job. And that’s if you have a moderately good output to start with. This article’s bias is that it’s an Alpha right to have a job and that companies should adapt to that. I disagree. And it baffles me that people who look down on Packrunning insist that society should be run like one.” The last line is sneered, making Sam’s belly sink a little since it seems to him like the ebony Alpha is disgusted by Packrunning.

“A pack would never force an Omega to take suppressants.”

“No. Not what I meant. But a pack takes care of the individuals that can’t take care of themselves. Instead, today’s lobbyists are trying to force that responsibility on companies and the government by pushing for laws that protect the weak Alphas at work. By doing so they’re also pushing for weakening Omega rights and I can’t respect that.”

“Oh. Yeah, no. I agree with that.” Sam lifts his drink in a little salute. The Alpha’s lip quirk into a tiny fraction of a smile as he raises his glass in a salute of his own. Sam’s belly’s filled with rampant butterflies. But then… the Alpha takes a sip and goes back to his reading.

Sam’s absolutely baffled. Maybe he’s Progressive? Progressive but tired of just hooking up, no wasting time on what might be just a random hookup. In that case, Sam needs to say something smart, something interesting or provocative to get his attention and keep it. Show the Alpha that he’s more than just a preheat horny Omega out to get laid. He draws breath to speak but is cut short by a tall, creepy looking Alpha with a large, bearded chin who presses up against his back to scent him unbidden. Sam flares, drops fangs and growls, bending his neck and twisting his head towards the Alpha.

The Alpha leers, teeths and flares a milky white colour that makes him even more creepy. Sam doesn’t like his smell even a little. 

Sam’s upper jaw aches from how his canines slowly (compared to Dean’s) elongate. Since the Alpha doesn’t seem to get the ‘hint’, Sam pulls a trick Dean can’t do. He ignores the pain to elongate his lower canines too, and raises his growl another frequency, turning it from a ‘fuck off’ to a ‘back the hell off or die, motherfucker’. 

Several people in the room either flare or lick their lips in submission with averted heads, or both. The Alpha finally takes the hint and backs off with his hands up, going backwards towards the exit. Sam glares at him until he’s left. He looks up to find that the bartender is looking at him with an appreciative smile, eyes a pretty golden, and the ebony Alpha still not paying them any heed. Definitely a Conservative then, but one used to Primals not to be freaked out by posturing. “What an ass,” Sam mutters.

The ebony Alpha looks up at him and hums noncommittally. “A bit too much testosterone going on there, boy.”

Sam snorts in miffed amusement and gives him a wry smile and a flirty narrowing of his eyes. “Yeah, but what can you do? The smell of preheat drives most a little kooky.”

The Alpha’s gaze turns razor sharp and focused. He bites his lower lip and scrutinizes Sam as if he’s trying to drill a hole into his brain and read his mind, looking for something. The nervous butterflies return and Sam blushes and turns his gaze away, locking onto a couple of women giggling by a table, feeling shy all the sudden. He side-eyes the ebony Alpha to find he’s followed Sam’s gaze to the table with the women with a troubled frown. Then he sighs tiredly and shutters down. “I don’t have that problem,” he says and turns his attention back to his reading. 

Sam's _never_ gotten such a rude rejection. The guy might as well have said ‘Get out of my face, you _stink_.’ Even the bartender is covering his mouth with a hand looking shocked. It hurts. It hurts a goddamn awfully lot. Sam holds back the urge to croon the mournful call of a wounded Omega in need of assistance. It's a sound only used within a pack and it'd mark him as a Packrunner as clearly as a neon sign over his head. He's utterly mortified. The last thing he needs is another reason for the Alpha to make fun of or look down on him after he’s made an utter fool of himself already.

He pushes himself away from the bar with a vicious snarl. “Fuck you too, asshole,” he says and gives the startled Alpha a flared glare before striding towards the exit.

The bartender catches up with him by the door. “Kit, wait up!”

Sam stops, lips pressed into a thin line when the bartender rounds him to prevent him from leaving. “What?”

“I’m sorry to see you treated like that here at my place. I’m Azazel. Easy to remember. It’s on the sign outside. Azazel’s bar. What’s your name?”

“Sam.”

“Sam. Good name. If you ever need anything, feel free to stop by. Food, drink, a place to sleep? I’ll give it to you. On the house. No expectations.”

“No expectations,” Sam states flatly.

“No expectations,” Azazel repeats. “Hopes? Yes. Sure. But a pretty scent like yours paired those strapping looks, _and_ a fighting spirit? Having you around will be rewarding enough. Don’t let a couple of jerks scare you away. It’s all I’m saying.” He smiles, yellow eyes intense enough to appear slightly manic.

“Alright.”

“And watch out for Alastair. He might have stuck around nearby to kick your ass for growling at him.”

“Thanks.” Sam gives Azazel a curt nod, steps around him and leaves.

* * *

You can say a lot of things about growing up and living with Dean. But ‘boring’ is never a descriptor for his bigger brother. Dad says Dean’s just like their mom. Sam hasn’t wondered much about their mother Mary, but right now he wishes he’d gotten to know her. He also thinks it’s a miracle she died in childbirth, not in an accident, if Dean and she are so alike. “ _Dean, you moron, what are you doing?! You could fall!_ ” Sam calls out to his brother who’s currently scaling the outside of their apartment building with something in his mouth and no gods be damned ropes or other safety measures. He’s barefoot and Sam’s not sure looking from this distance, but it seems like both his hands _and_ feet are clawed. Sam’s not the only person on the ground looking up at him. Almost everyone out and about has stopped what they’re doing to watch.

Dean reaches the second furthest storey and lets go with one hand to hang out over the street, taking whatever it is he’s carrying from his mouth and reaching as far as he can to attach it to the wires hanging from the cluster of parabolic antennas on the building next to theirs.

Sam sucks in a breath, heart leaping in fright in his chest. Today’s stinging rejection momentarily forgotten.

The next moment Dean swings back in, successfully having attached whatever it is, and starts climbing down again. “Yo, Sammy! Get yourself inside! I’ve got a surprise for ya!” Dean calls down to him without looking, sidling downwards towards their balcony.

Sam hesitates for a moment, then hurries towards the entrance cage.

Once he gets into their apartment Dean’s already there, overly enthusiastically pulling Sam in. “Come look at this! Who’s got the best brother in the world, huh? You do, that’s who!” He says and gestures at a… TV!

“Holy shit, Dean! Where did you get that?” It’s working. The screen is showing a perfectly clear image of a news broadcast. “Can we really afford this?”

“Pfft. Afford? What do you think the climbing was about? We’re mooching off the neighbours. I found an old receiver and an antenna and tinkered with them. They shouldn’t notice anything.”

“But where did you get the TV?”

“You know those gated communities uptown? They’ve got their own trash dumpsters. So today I asked one of my coworkers who live in one of those communities if she could give me a lift home and told her I lived in the same community as her. She drove me right past the guards and dropped me off, then I had my pick of the crop. You won’t _believe_ what those rich folks throw away!”

“TVs?” Sam hedges with an amused quirk to his lips.

“Yes! I swear, if I had a truck I’d raid all of those places. Toting this fucker all the way here was a bitch. But fuck it. It was worth it!” Dean grins. He’s overly upbeat but doesn’t smell it. Something’s wrong.

“What’s happened, Dean?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Don’t worry about it.”

Sam gives him a flat look.

“Alright, fine. I mighta screwed up at work. I’m not sure what I did wrong. One moment my boss is asking me out, the next one he’s smelling angry and distressed and fucking hightailing it out of there. I dunno, maybe nothing will happen but I needed something to perk myself up with, hence…” Dean gestures at the TV.

“He was asking you out?”

“Yeah. Wanted me to bring you. My bosses, man, I’m telling you. Four brothers and they all smell so good I’m pining my ass off. Only met two of them and one was kind of an asshole.”

“You like assholes,” Sam teases.

“Hey!”

“Where’s the lie? You like when they have confidence.”

“Cas wasn’t an asshole.”

“Hah! Wow, your memory of your first meeting must be covered in pink glitter. He moved into the house next to us overnight, then when dad came out to check if he was okay to have around or chase him away, he’d marked the whole fence and was leaning against it like a punk, blowing bubbles with his chewing gum, one eyebrow raised like ‘Watcha gonna do about it, oldtimer?’”

Dean sniggers and grins with a soft, faraway look. “Yeah… he sure had spunk for someone riddled with pain and dying of cancer. One part sass, one part determination, and one part sweetness, that was Cas for ya,” he says fondly before his gaze refocuses on Sam. “So okay, maybe I do have a thing for cocky assholes. If they think they’re worth the trouble they usually are. And, hey, how else would they keep up with me?”

Sam chuckles. “Point taken.”

“So what’s got you stinking like a mopey baby?”

Sam makes a face. “It’s embarrassing.”

“So give me something to laugh about. It’s my brotherly duty to tease you when you screw up, remember?” Dean jokes.

“I, uh…” Sam drags a hand through his hair and looks at his feet. “I caught scent of an Alpha who smelled better than anything I’ve ever smelt. Like, love at first whiff good. So, I, um, tracked him for several blocks to a bar. But there he basically told me to fuck off. He wasn’t interested. And now I feel like a fool for chasing after him.”

Dean doesn’t laugh at him or tease him like he’d anticipated. Sam looks up to find Dean looking serious. “Sammy… I never told you why I came to New York. After I just moved out from home I spent a Heat with an Alpha from here. He was awesome. He wanted me to come with him when he left but I couldn’t do it then. He said to come find him if I ever came to New York. All I know is his first name and the moment I knew Y'all were covered for back home I came here to find him. So you wanna talk about being a fool for an asshole Alpha? Get in line, cuz your big bro is the biggest fool of them all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“What’s his name?”

“Raphael.”

“Shit. That’s not even an unusual name.”

“No shit. I made a joke about there only being one Raphael in New York and the fucker went ‘Exactly’.” Dean shakes his head. “Anyway, you wanna check out how many channels we’ve got on TV?”

Sam smiles. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Later when they’re lying on the bed watching some brain-dead action comedy Sam thinks about it. “Hey, Dean…”

“What?”

“Maybe he was serious?”

“Who?” Dean asks distractedly then laughs at some silly joke on the movie.

“Raphael. Maybe he was serious? Maybe he’s famous or something.”

Dean turns his head and looks at him for a moment, then shrugs and turns his attention towards the TV. “Maybe. At least he was rich. I can tell you that.”

“In that case we’ll find him.”

“Sure we will,” Dean answers without conviction.

But Sam’s determined. They’ll find Raphael for Dean. If Sam’s perfect match wasn’t a match, at least one of them can get happily mated…

* * *

**_And rewind…_ **

“Hi.”

Raphael looks up. The young man who addressed him is _gorgeous_. Tall, fit, broad shoulders, dimpled, with catty eyes and longish hair that looks soft enough to spend a full evening just running your fingers through it while watching TV on the couch. He looks like the very epitome of what an Alpha should be. Strong, friendly, confident. The clothes give him away as lower class, and his hands are workworn with a fair amount of small scars. Probably born in the slums, climbing his way upward in the world judging by how healthy he looks. Which would explain why he’s talking to Raphael. Too many young Alphas try to make friends with him to get a job or get ahead some other way. 

Raphael gives the young Alpha a polite, close-lipped smile, a nod, and goes back to reading. No need to waste time flirting with an Alpha. Even if they wouldn’t be put off by the idea few will be okay with getting knotted and it’s not worth how upset his brothers get when he comes home smelling of another Alpha. Mike is the one who most frequently picks up Alphas for a one night stand. Raphael thinks he does it more to provoke his brothers than anything else. Raphael too will act like them when their behaviour tells him Mike’s been canoodling with an outsider. 

Raphael listens with half an ear when Azazel makes polite conversation with the young Alpha. “Haven’t seen you in here before.” 

“Yeah. I caught a scent a couple of blocks away and tracked it here,” the young Alpha tells Azazel.

It makes sense. Raphael would probably also track a nice smelling Omega for several blocks if he could smell them. But unless they’re in heat, he’s screwed. Flirting is hopeless. The more discreet and polite they are, the worse it is. When Raphael was young he made a couple of mistakes. Came onto Alphas thinking they were Omegas. Worse, misreading polite Omegas’ shy smiles as ‘yes’ since he couldn’t smell their distress when he got persistent in his courting when they weren’t interested. Today he always err on the side of caution.

And hooking up with someone in preheat is a gamble. When he’s with them when the Heat hits and he can finally catch their scent? Best thing in the world. Nothing smells as good as that. Except for when it isn’t. It sucks to be knotted when the scent hits and you realise that ‘Nope’, this doesn’t do it for him. He still takes his chances when he gets them, if they are overly clear about what they want from him, telling him with words what he can’t scent. Like the Packrunner from Kansas. Dean. Who guided him through the process of hooking up step by step, playfully and straightforward. Raphael wishes they all were like that.

“Well, if that doesn’t work out for you, you’ll know where to find me. In the meantime, tell me if you need anything. Food, drink, just tell me. On the house,” Azazel tells the young Alpha. The first time Raphael had seen Azazel make an offer like this he’d mistakenly thought Azazel was courting the young man, Jake Talley. (Which he was, but not for romantic or sexual purposes.) It had turned out Jake was an Alpha, not in the least interested in being hit on by Raphael. Now that Raphael is a regular here he knows that Azazel puts his hooks in young, ambitious Alphas trying to climb out of the gutter. He gets them to worship him, then gets them to run errands for him. Some survive, some don’t. Raphael doesn’t know what Azazel’s bar is a front for. He has no wish to find out. It’s a good bar and Azazel is a decent man in this dog-eat-dog world. The care he shows his ‘Special Children’ is genuine enough, so is the sadness when they die.

“Thanks,” the young Alpha answers. It turns quiet for a bit and Raphael focuses on reading the genderist, anti-Primal bullshit he’s reading. The writer has enough good points to be convincing, but has absolutely zero understanding of Primal behaviour and the bias is extremely Conservative. “What are you reading?” the young Alpha asks.

 

Raphael looks up to find the gorgeous Alpha sipping his drink, looking at him curiously. “An article about how forcing Omegas to use suppressants at a workplace makes a company run more effectively. It’s a load of bull, but it’s interesting either way.”

“Why is it bullshit?”

“If all the Omegas in a company are on suppressants, the general output is more stable. But if they’re not, Alphas show vast differences in output during the Omegas’ heats. Most Alphas turn competitive and unconsciously go the extra mile to impress the Omega in heat. Others get distracted and are less efficient. A company will see a peak of productivity when their Omegas are in heat, making their yearly output graph go like this.” He demonstrates a jagged line with his finger. It’s also true that Alphas got more likely to quarrel with each other, and act generally more aggressive. But the pros far outweigh the cons. “A company with Omegas on suppressants will see a mostly flat line in the output graph. This article argues that to be a good thing, pointing to how you also can see a dip in productivity in Alphas during their coworkers’ heats. The article argues that the Omegas are the problem to be fixed.”

“But you don’t agree?”

_Better make this standpoint clear in case the guy ends up asking for a job._ “No. If you have to lower the bar to stay in the competition you’re not fit to work for me. Complain three times to us about an Omega distracting you from working, you’ll find yourself without a job. And that’s if you have a moderately good output to start with. This article’s bias is that it’s an Alpha right to have a job and that companies should adapt to that. I disagree. And it baffles me that people who look down on Packrunning insist that society should be run like one.” He sneers the last line. He’s so tired of people putting him down for being a Packrunner when they find out. There are so many prejudices and faulty stereotypes that people believe. One moment some would scoff at him as if he was nothing but an animal, the next breath they could paint a picture of an ideal society that is nothing short of a description of how a Pack works.

“A pack would never force an Omega to take suppressants,” the young Alpha states. It’s interesting that he knows that.

“No. Not what I meant. But a pack takes care of the individuals that can’t take care of themselves. Instead, today’s lobbyists are trying to force that responsibility on companies and the government by pushing for laws that protect the weak Alphas at work. By doing so they’re also pushing for weakening Omega rights and I can’t respect that.”

“Oh. Yeah, no. I agree with that.” The young Alpha lifts his drink in a little salute, cheeks dimpling with a smile and eyes twinkling. He’s so handsome it hurts. Raphael’s lips quirk into a tiny fraction of a smile as he raises his glass in a salute of his own. Thoughts like ‘Should I give it a shot?’ and ‘Maybe I stand a chance…?’ flies through his brain. He knows how slim his chances are, that he’ll feel worse if he hits on someone and gets rejected or mistakes friendly interest for something more. He sips his drink and goes back to his reading. No reason to make himself miserable, pining for what he can’t have.

It’s quiet for a while. Then suddenly there’s a commotion by the young Alpha. Raphael lifts his head to see him posturing, flaring a gorgeous amber gold ringed by verdant moss-green. He’s dropped fangs, sporting a second set of fangs on his lower jaw just like Gabe and father. He’s hot. Fearless. Growling a warning that harbours death. Making the competing Alpha back up and leave with his tail between his legs. Raphael withholds the urge to flare and let out a low rumble of ‘calm down, or I’ll put you in your place, kit’. While technically Azazel’s bar is on Williams’ territory, it’s still Azazel’s bar, and Azazel looks pleased with what just happened so Raphael goes back to reading.

“What an ass,” the young Alpha mutters.

Raphael looks up at him and hums noncommittally. “A bit too much testosterone going on there, boy,” he chastises lightly. No matter how hot _Raphael_ finds that sort of posturing, most people are made nervous by it. Besides, the young Alpha had said he came here chasing the scent trail of an Omega, and there are better ways to chase off competition than threatening with violence first thing.

The young Alpha snorts in miffed amusement and gives him a wry smile and a flirty narrowing of his eyes. “Yeah, but what can you do? The smell of preheat drives most a little kooky.” He makes a playful little wiggle with his hips and that… that’s not an Alpha thing to do at all. Raphael’s heart starts beating faster from hope. Maybe he got everything wrong. Maybe the man beside him is an Omega in preheat, and that’s what the posturing was about? Just because Azazel grooms young Alphas to do illegal work for him doesn’t mean he wouldn’t court an Omega the same way. Azazel would appreciate the same things in a potential partner as he would in the young Alphas he grooms to work for him.

Raphael bites his lips and scrutinizes him looking for tells, _any_ tells. If he’s an Omega it changes _everything._ The posturing marked him as Primal and few things are as hot as an Omega that can match you step for step. If he’s in preheat Raphael _has_ to have him! He _needs_ to take care of him through his heat so he can scent him. And the guy had expressed himself in what Raphael counts as a positive way about Packrunning. He wishes he could just _ask_ the guy if he’s an Omega, but he’s learned his lesson about that too. Too many won’t sleep with somebody noseblind, even just for a hookup. If― 

The young man blushes adorably and turns his head to look at a table beyond the bar. Raphael follows his gaze to see the four female Omegas giggle at something one of them said. Raphael frowns, uncertain. But no. He’s rarely that lucky. This simply means the Omega that drives the young man ‘kooky’ is seated at that table. He sighs tiredly and shutters down in disappointment. “I don’t have that problem,” he says and turns his attention back to his reading. 

The young Alpha pushes himself away from the bar with a vicious snarl. “Fuck you too, asshole,” he says, startling Raphael and giving him a flared glare before striding towards the exit.

Azazel makes an agile leap over the bar disk and catches up with the young man by the door. “Kit, wait up!” Raphael stares at them with a crawling feeling in his belly. Once again he’s misread something in the scent communication.

The young man stops, lips pressed into a thin line when Azazel rounds him to block his exit. “What?”

Raphael can’t hear what Azazel’s saying, he’s talking too quietly. He only catches the young man’s answers.

“Sam,” the young man answers Azazel. It must be his name. Azazel goes on talking.

“No expectations,” the young man, _Sam_ , states flatly, not buying Azazel’s bullshit, then listening attentively. “Alright.” Sam listens as Azazel says something else. “Thanks.” He gives Azazel a curt nod, steps around him and leaves.

Azazel turns around and walks towards Raphael, shaking his head disbelievingly. “What’s wrong with you, Williams? Your brothers lop your balls off? I’d have thought him to be your type. He comes in here having tracked you down and you shut him down so coldly? A mistake, Raphael. Omegas like that don’t come by the dozen,” he says.

“You sure it was me he’d been tracking?”

“Positive.”

“Fuck.” Raphael is up and running towards the door between one heartbeat and another. “Where did he go?” he asks the bouncer Cain urgently when he gets out.

“Turned down that corner,” Cain tells him, pointing. 

Raphael runs. He turns the corner onto the busy street filled with people, cars and cabs, bus station, subway station, and other streets crossing it. Sam’s nowhere to be seen. He could have gone anywhere. Sam had successfully tracked him through these conditions from several blocks away without having gotten a good scenting of him, and Raphael can’t even follow once the guy is out of eye-sight. “ _Fuck!_ ” He covers his mouth with his hand and turns this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tall man with the glossy, brown hair. Nothing. He’s gone.

Raphael’s awash with bitter disappointment. In his work, he’s managed to turn his handicap into an advantage. So many try to influence you with their scent, and with him, they can’t. But like this? He hates it. In instances like this, it’s hard to accept the unfairness of it all. Part of him wants to dramatically face plant and feel sorry for himself like Luci would do. He won’t. He’ll put on his stoic mask and accept that he’s doomed to let perfect partners slip through his fingers because he can’t see them.

Still, it hurts more than his pride allows him to admit.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! :) Anything particular you found funny, interesting, or nice? (Or disliked. :P) Tell me! :D


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